What really happened after 'The End?
by BOTx9
Summary: Ever wonder what really happened after 'The End? I can definitely say it is not what you would expect. So read and prepare to be shocked and surprised, because I'm going to tell you what JK Rowling didn't want to!
1. Harry Potter: 20 Stone

-Chapter One-

The Walk Out

'Put the kettle on, will you?'

'I've just woken up. Why can't you make a cup of coffee?'

'I go to work all week, and you can't even be bothered to do me one favour. Fine, thanks, I'll remember it.'

The woman turned on her heels. 'I go to work all week!' She turned back towards the sink and filled up the kettle.

The woman was in her mid-forties, with long, wavy hair twisted into a bun on top of her head. Her hair, although greying and aging, was startlingly ginger. She wore a grey, knee-length dress and a stained apron; both were white, once upon a time. Her face was round and white and was dusted with pale freckles. She wore a blank expression; her eyes: lined with both tiredness and black rings, an eternity ago held promise and youth, now deep with unfulfilled dreams.

'One of these days…'

'Oh, shut up already, you don't have the guts to do anything.' The man eased himself up from his slouch on the sofa.

'I'm getting in the shower,' he said.

'Excuse me, Harry; you said you were going to help Albus with his model aeroplane.' The woman said.

Harry got up off the sofa.

'So you have a problem with me sitting on the sofa.' His voice escalated, 'I don't complain when you make your crap for dinner. I don't complain when you spend hours on the phone. I don't complain-'

'You don't complain.' She whispered. 'You don't complain!' Her voice became a shout. 'You're complaining now! Go and have your shower. Then spend the rest of the day on the sofa watching the X-Factor. Then get up tomorrow and go to work for a week and come home complaining to me how hard it is!'

Harry took a threatening step towards the woman. He pointed a finger in her face. 'You don't understand the meaning of hard work.' He turned, walked out the room, and slammed the door behind him.

The woman rested her head in her hands on the kitchen counter.

There was a shuffle behind her. A boy, wearing green pyjamas and holding a box, approached her.

'Is Daddy going to make my plane with me today?'

'I don't know, Albus,' said Ginny. 'Why don't we make it today?'

Harry climbed off his broomstick and patted his friend on the back.

'Nice one, mate.' He said.

'Nah, couldn't save a blooming thing. Pathetic.' His friend complained.

'Ron, that was the best I've seen you fly.'

'Not exactly hard, is it?'

The pair trudged across the waterlogged field. Their long, black robes dragged in the mud and whipped around their ankles. The wind and rain lashed at their faces.

'How's life, Harry?' Ron questioned.

'S'fine, hanging on, you know.'

'Yeah. I know too well mate.'

'Why'd you ask?'

'Just thought… you'd seemed a little off.'

Harry stopped walking. He turned to face Ron with daggers in his eyes.

'Oi, what the hell has she been telling you?'

'I-I don't know what you mean, mate.'

'Stop calling me mate.' Harry turned Ron towards him. 'What has your stupid sister been telling you?'

'You lay off my sister. You have no right to call her that!' exclaimed Ron.

'She'd better watch it. She spends her time bad-mouthing me to everyone.'

'Well, maybe if you weren't such an ass.' Said Ron.

Harry shook his head in disbelief, leaving Ron and walking faster. The rain soaked down his hair and on to his face, where he wiped it off angrily. He heard Ron but his voice was lost in the wind. He didn't turn round.

When he was off the field, he ran the corner home.

He barged open the door, leaving puddles on the doormat.

His mouth opened and his eyebrows drew closer together.

Harry saw the cluttered hallway, the drips of water falling off the umbrellas leaning against the wall, the wet shoes lined up underneath the radiator. He saw the small muddy footprints behind him, and he saw his bigger ones next to them. He saw the slightly askew, over-loved Quidditch poster on the wall, and the dog-eared, years old calendar beside it. He saw the red crayon marks, the sticky finger marks, the dug out holes, the chipped paint, the unravelling carpet. He saw it and he called it his home.

No sound escaped his open mouth.

'Ginny?' He called. 'Ginny? I'm sorry; I didn't mean what I said.'

He walked down the hallway, stepping over the shoes and umbrellas, and opened the kitchen door. The room was empty.

'Ginny? Come here.' But no one answered.

Harry jogged up the stairs and shuffled into his room. Lying on the bed was a note.

Harry,

I am writing this note for you because I can't and won't take any of your crap anymore. I'm sure you can forgive me that. I've taken the kids so don't bother looking for us. I'm filing for a divorce so… I guess this is goodbye.

Ginny.

Harry lay down on the bed. What? What have I done? He rolled over on his side and looked at the floor. The carpet was tattered and frayed. What have I done? The slip of paper fell out his outstretched hand. He watched it fall to the floor. What have I done? Harry's thoughts swirled in his head like angry bees. He knew he could only do one thing.

'Hello?'

'Hi Ron. It's Harry.'

'Uh, sorry mate… I'm hanging up.'

'Wait!' Harry shouted down the phone. 'Wait. Please.'

'Oh, you're killing me. What do you want?'

'I just want to know… why?'

'Oh, you know mate. You-'

'Just kidding. I know why. Is there a way I can make it better?'

'No…' Ron sighed. 'No, there isn't. You messed up.'

'I know. I know! Doesn't that count for anything?'

'Nope.' There was an awkward pause.

'Where… where are they?'

'Um… I don't know.'

'Come on Ron, I can practically hear you blushing down the phone. Can I speak to them?'

'They aren't here mate.' Ron denied.

'Can I speak to Ginny?'

'I swear.' Said Ron, nervously.

'Can I speak to James? Lily? Albus?'

'They aren't here! Really!'

'Right.' Said Harry. 'Right. Okay, I can't speak to my kids now.'

'Ugh… fine. Have it your way. Wait…'

There was silence on the end of the phone, followed by a clunk. Harry thought about the past hour. How had so much gone wrong in such a little time? A few seconds later a bright voice sounded.

'Hi Dad!'

'Hi Lily. What's up?'

'Um… I'm good. You?'

'I'm… fine. What are you doing?'

'I'm waiting at Uncle Ron's and Hermione's.' said Lily.

'Oh. Where's… James?

'Out.'

'And your Mum?' asked Harry.

'Mum said you would ask me sometime,' said Lily. 'She told me to keep my mouth zipped.'

'Well, just this time, do Daddy a favour.' Bargained Harry.

'Come on Dad, I'm thirteen. I know what's going on!'

'Oh…' said Harry. 'I'm sorry Lily.'

'Yeah, I know. You're doing up the house but we aren't allowed to know!' Lily giggled.

'I… am? Okay. I have to go. Don't tell your Mum I asked about her. It's a secret.'

'Okay. Seeya!'

Harry put the phone down on the cradle. He sighed. Twice. Then he ripped up the note. He slammed his fist against the wall. It left a crater in the plaster. His knuckles were covered in blood. He shouted as loud as he could – to let everything out. He slid down the wall and lay there. Eventually, he fell asleep.

When he woke, he could see only darkness through the window. He groaned and tried to get up. After a few attempts and a few clicks from his bones, he was up. For the first time in a long time, he felt… lonely. Lonely and alone. He had no more friends. He had no more family.

'I need to get out and meet some people. Before I go crazy.' He said, to himself.

-Chapter Two-

The Transformation

'Hi, I'd like a large ham and pineapple with hot sauce and steak.'

'Whoa, slow down there.' Said Harry.

'Haven't seen you around these here parts, pardner.' The man put on a false Texan accent and shot an imaginary gun.

'No… I don't usually eat takeaway.'

'Well, if yer lookin' fer a change, compadre, you've come to the right waterin' hole.'

'Um… okay.' Said Harry.

'What you doing in a place like this?'

'Uh, you want the real story or the cover story?' Harry laughed.

'I want the real story.' The Texan Man said.

'Well okay. Basically, my wife and kids left me and I'm… feeling a bit alone.'

'Oh. My. Gosh. That is the same as me!'

'Really?' Asked Harry. 'That's… good.'

'Well, I'm Terry. Terry Arkwright. Who're you?'

'I'm Harry... Potter.'

'Hm… seems familiar.'

Terry was a round, happy man. He needed to lose a… few pounds. Or stone. He had a receding hairline and wrinkles that showed up when he smiled. He wore a flannel shirt and baggy jeans, which really needed a wash. But he seemed friendly enough, to Harry.

'Welcome to Mario's Pizza. You know… the usual joint.'

'Seems nice.' Harry said.

'Yep. But you got to be adventurous. You should try a… mexican pizza with three types of jalapeños.'

'Are there even three types?'

'Prepare to be mind blown.'

After a minute or two, their pizzas arrived. Harry's smelt overpowering – a mixture of pepper, barbeque, and oddly, the smell of spice. Nervously, he bit a chunk out of one slice. It tasted warm and soft in his mouth. The barbeque sauce hit him first. After, the spicy chicken. Next was the salty cheese. Then the jalapeños took a mallet and whacked him across the face.

Harry looked up, his eyes watering, but Terry was already there, handing him a glass of water. A bead of water trickled down the side, like in the adverts. He took it gratefully, gulping it down in three mouthfuls.

Harry looked up once more. All thoughts he was thinking vanished. His mind went blank and his eyes glazed over. Suddenly, there was nothing else but… pizza.

Harry looked at the note he had found through his letterbox the next morning. It was an advert for Mario's Pizza, from the night before. On it, scribbled hastily, he saw:

Same time. Same place. Terry.

Harry's face turned from a grimace into a grin. He was looking forward to the pizza, and seeing Terry again. That guy's really a role model, he thought.

He still had 12 hours to kill, as it was only 10 in the morning. He decided he needed to go and get some fresh air, feel the wind on his face, so he grabbed his broomstick from the downstairs cupboard. Quidditch always made Harry feel better. It was the rush of adrenaline, the being good at something. He opened the door, face to face with a wall of rain.

'Oh well,' muttered Harry. He stepped into the wall and took off for the field.

The ground was waterlogged and made that squidgy sound really wet things do. Clambering on the broomstick, Harry soared upwards, but the wind sent him flying to the right. Harry was in control though, gripping on to the soaked wood handle of his Nimbus 500,002, and pulling himself upright. This was something he could control, and it felt good.

He rested his head on the table.

'God dammit!' He murmured. 'I don't know…'

Suddenly he sat up straighter, and scratched the little bit of beard he had.

Terry looked to the ceiling. It had chipped paint and watermarks. There was a crack that didn't look good. It snaked its way across the ceiling and above his head.

'I don't know. I don't know!' He shouted. He pounded his big fist on the table.

Slowly he got up. His face turned down with disappointment. He wandered dreamily, as if sleepwalking, to the fridge freezer. With a dazed, but pained, look on his face, he reached in and took out a McCain's Microwave Pizza.

Harry opened the door. He was drenched.

The first thing he did was get in the shower. The water had not been on and he came out the shower colder and more miserable than he had been before.

Getting dressed, he glanced at the clock. 13:47, it read. Pulling on a turtleneck jumper, and grabbing a pair of socks, he mooched downstairs to watch TV.

Murder, She Wrote, nope. Highland Emergency, nah. Time Team, might as well. He flicked it on and watched as 'Tony and the Team' dug up some stuff in the mud and pretended it was fascinating. It was exactly the mind numbing thing he needed.

-Chapter Three-

The Beginning

He paced the small room. The air smelt stale. He reached across the counter to the window. It opened with a creak and puff of dust. The motes swirled around in a mini-tornado, catching the light from the blinds in strange angles, the light dancing along the walls.

Ascend the Chariot of the Sun

Terry sank down into an armchair. It groaned. He had owned the chair for a long time now; Terry wondered how many times he had crashed onto it before, after a hard day's work or a rare day off.

From her bright pow'r to shelter thee:

All days were weekends to Terry now. He didn't want him to end up like this, too. Terry knew how one lead to another, how one wasn't enough, how one could end it all.

Her Captive (Foole) outgases him;

But still he continued.

Ah what lost wretches then are we!

Harry caught the door open with his foot.

'Thanks for holding the door open for me!' He muttered. 'Jerk.'

'Hey, Harry, how's it hanging?' Terry motioned for him to sit down on the stool next to him.

'Great thanks, Terry.'

'I'm glad you could come.'

The men looked over the menu pinned to the wall. They contemplated the choices in front of them. When both had decided, Harry a BLT Sizzler and Terry a Mario's Special of the Day, Terry turned towards Harry.

'It's not too late to back out now,' he almost whispered, 'before it's too late.'

Harry looked at the man's serious expression and snorted, unable to keep it in.

'Look at me, Harry!' Terry put his hands on Harry's shoulders and turned him to look him straight in the eye. 'I have nothing left.'

'Terry,' Harry started, breaking free of his grasp, 'I have nothing left, either. But then you gave me hope. Are you bailing out on me?'

'No, Harry, I just want to make sure you're sure.'

The men sat in silence for a few moments, pondering the conversation that had just unfolded. Then the cook came with the two Pizzas.

'Oh man, time to eat!' Terry announced.

He dug in enthusiastically, while Harry looked at the huge Pizza in front of him. With a wary look, he picked up a slice, and took a bite. Suddenly the whole night before flashed in his mind, and Harry knew what he had to do. Taking another mouthful, he grinned and looked at Terry. Terry smiled back, but his eyes remained set, etched with remorse and deep, long forgotten regret.

Thai Guy

Paid: £3,50

Thai Red with Poppadums

Harry yawned. Stretching his arms above his head, he glanced at the clock. Oh damn, Harry thought. Almost time for work!

He got up rigidly, and pulled on the first robe he could find in his wardrobe. The entire cupboard was dishevelled, jumpers and jackets pulled out from here and there, until all that remained was the plain, dull colours of Harry's clothes.

He hands fumbled in the general direction of the bedside table, knocking his glasses to the floor. He bend to pick them up, surprised by his own stiffness. Age is creeping up on me!

Taking the stairs two at a time, and stumbling at the end, Harry turned the corner into the kitchen.

Cha Ming Noodles

Paid: £4,10

Peking Duck with Speciality Noodles in Soy Sauce

Having been left to fend for himself, Harry took to foraging in the cupboards. Targeting his prey, a box of Honey Puffs, he leaned over to take the cereal. Now he needed milk. Opening the fridge and scanning the area, he located the milk. He opened the bottle and poured the milk straight into the cereal box. Discarding the empty bottle, he took a spoon and trailed into the sitting room.

'Damn!' Harry murmured. 'She's moved the damn remote so I have to look for it!'

Checking by the TV and on the table and in the other places women hide TV remotes, he found it eventually, wedged in between the sofa cushions.

Harry sank onto the sofa with a sigh. Flicking on the TV, he browsed the few channels he had.

King's Tower Takeaway

Paid: £6,75

Barbeque Pizza, Double Cheeseburger with 2x large fries

He settled on a channel and watched, while eating the cereal. When the program ended, and he was 10 minutes late for work, Harry flung the empty box onto the table and pulled up his trousers.

He had forgotten where he had left the keys. Searching high and low and left and right, he couldn't find it anywhere. I bet she's taken it, he wondered.

From the other room, Harry heard his ringtone, Gangnam Style playing.

Entering the room and hearing Psy rap in Korean, Harry picked up his phone.

'Hello?' He asked.

'Harry? What hour do you call this?' Cornelius Fudge, who incidentally was his boss, replied.

'Um,' Harry stuttered. He coughed into the receiver. 'Sorry, boss, I'm ill. I'll take this week off.'

'Thanks for the notice,' Fudge muttered, and hung up.

Cod Almighty

Paid: £10,60

2x large cod, 4 haddock fish cakes, 2x large fries, jumbo Fish Pie

Harry put the phone in his pocket, shouting with joy.

'No work for a week!' he rejoiced. 'No work for me!'

Plodding down the hall and back upstairs, he ripped off his robe and flung it to the floor.

'Yeah! No work!'

He took his phone back out his pocket and dialled Terry's number.

He had not seen him all week.

Terry skimmed the large bookshelf.

Selecting an anthology of poems by W.B. Yeats, a favourite of his, he turned to the page with the folded corner.

Terry had many poetry books, an entire bookshelf covering one wall was full of them. In some poems he could find escape, in some he could find the bitter truth.

That's why Terry had bookmarked this page. Surprisingly, he could find many poems that reflected him in some way. It was like a mirror that showed you your reflection, plain and simple, no questions asked. All you had to do was find the time to listen.

Come play with me;

Why should you run

Through the shaking tree

As though I'd a gun

To strike you dead?

When all I would do

Is to scratch your head

And let you go.

-Chapter Four-

The Deed is Done

Terry rapped on the door. Looking around, he knew he shouldn't judge Harry. So he didn't.

The front door was white with chipped paint, and a crack in the glass. There was red crayon on one of the panes. The lock was an industrial sized Yale one, the original door lock gone years ago. There were three bins in one corner of the old porch, a wheelie bin and two recycling bins. Rain was clinging to the sides of the bins and the porch and every so often a drip landed on Terry's head.

When Harry opened the front door Terry was shocked.

When he first met Harry, his scruffy black hair and bright green eyes had caught his attention. He was quite thin, Terry thought, not muscular but not twig-like. His clothes were not fancy or garing but subtle, they looked old and worn but well cared for. He had a grin on his face while he made a wisecrack about Terry's choice of pizza. Terry liked him immediately; he seemed like an easy person to get along with.

But as Harry opened the door, Terry saw the hair that, usually mussed up and unmanageable, hadn't been combed in a while. Harry's clothes strained against his body, a button or two popped out in a cartoon-like fashion. His usual big grin was a ghost of its former self, and it was almost pitiable.

Terry thought: what have I done?

Harry invited Terry inside, and they stepped over the clutter of the hallway into the living room.

The television blared out an episode of Top Gear. There were empty bottles of beer scattered on the coffee table and the floor. A newspaper was spread out on the table and one page, the Quidditch page, was lying haphazardly on a sofa cushion.

Harry and Terry took their seats on the sofa.

'Had a great week.' Harry grinned.

'Really?'

'Took the week off!'

Terry's face pulled up in horror – his eyebrows high and his eyes wide. He struggled to hide the look but managed to conceal it in a forced grin that made Harry cringe.

'Nice one.' He commented. 'What you get up to?'

'Nothing much, saw the Quidditch game on the TV, ate out a bit. Well, ordered food. From different restaurants.'

'Harry…'

'Have you gone to the Thai Guy?' Harry asked.

'Yes I have but that's not the point.' Said Terry.

'What's up, Terry. You're acting weird.'

'How would you know?' questioned Terry. 'You've only known me for a week!'

'Well if this is the real you, get the hell out of my house.'

'Sorry,' Terry muttered. 'Sorry. Let me tell you this straight. I'm living in guilt. Guilt, Harry!'

'Yeah, mate. I get it.' Harry opened the draw next to him and took out a leaflet for a local Chip Emporium.

'Harry, listen!'

Harry turned to Terry.

'Well, I can see you're about to wimp out on me so do it quick please. The Chip Emporium has a free litre of Cola offer but it ends at 5.'

'Look at you, Harry. You're wasting your life. You're getting fat, like me. Eating is an addiction, but you can still get out.'

'I don't want to,' said Harry, 'I'm happy, for the first time in years. I don't know how, but I am.'

'I understand. As long as you don't hold me responsible for what happens, we can hang out.'

'Good.' Harry grinned, opening the leaflet and ripping out a coupon. 'Chips are on me, mate!'

Three hours, two large portions of chips and an episode of the X Factor later, Terry had left and Harry stumbled off to bed.

-Chapter Five-

The Unexpected Guest

When Harry woke, it was 6 in the morning, on a Monday. Grimacing at the thought of going to work, he got up and performed his usual routine: get dressed, eat cereal, brush teeth, try to brush hair, get in car, drive. The wizarding world is much better now with cars. Thought Harry. More convenient than broomsticks, less painful than any other method of wizard travel.

In the car Harry turned on the radio, to a folk channel he hated. The wind screen wipers battled with a dusting of frost.

'Didn't know it was that cold.' Harry remarked, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

Harry's car bumped in the usual potholes he always overlooked, and skid along the dusting of frost that lay on the road.

Arriving at the Ministry of Magic, Harry got out of his car, slamming the door with a bang. His breath frosted in front of him, tumbling off behind him. Trudging across the car park, Harry stopped. Arthur Weasly, his wife's father, was running out of the building.

'Oh. Hello, Harry.' Arthur said, with a curt nod.

'Arthur,' said Harry, grabbing the man's wrists to stop him from leaving. The gravel crunched under his feet. 'How's Ginny?'

'Go away, Harry.' Arthur shook free of Harry's grip and strode off, breaking into a jog as he got closer to his car, an old Ford Fiesta. Harry looked over to his car, a battered little car, and wondered whether him and Arthur were really that different.

Shaking his head, Harry strode up the steps and into the huge building, the Ministry of Magic.

The long hall stretched out in front of him. The height of the hall always surprised Harry. The ceiling, a dusky purple-blue, stretched high above, adorned with bright golden symbols. The symbols flexed and travelled across the ceiling, glinting from the light of the fireplaces lined up on the walls.

The polished floor made a dull squeak when Harry's shoes rubbed them the wrong way. In the centre of the hall was a fountain, with five gold statues: a wizard, a witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. Jets of water sprung from each and danced in the air, catching the light and twirling down into the pool beneath.

Harry perched on the end of the fountain, and wrapped his hands around his sides.

A young witch sidled up to him, and gave him a grin.

'What's up, Harry? Catching your breath?'

'Well,' replied Harry, 'I just ran all the way over from the other building.'

The witch snorted at him and carried on along the room. Harry glared after her.

Mustering up energy, Harry lifted himself up from the fountain and continued his walk down the hall.

Making it to his office, he found it unlocked, so he stepped in. Standing by his desk was Fudge, and a teenage boy.

'Harry! You're late! What example is this setting for Tomas?' asked Fudge.

Harry stopped. Tomas… the name rung faint bells in his mind. 'Uh, hi?' He offered.

The boy shook his hand enthusiastically.

'Well, now we're all acquainted, I'll leave Harry to show you he ropes!' Fudge beamed at Tomas. On his way out, Fudge whispered to Harry, 'Never again.'

Harry drew up a chair and took his place across the desk. Opening a draw, he took out some papers. Glancing at the title, The Case of Max Grimshaw, the bewitching of Toilet Seats, he took out the papers and dropped them on the desk. They landed with a heavy thud.

'Sorry, I'll be with you in a minute, I'm extremely busy,' apologised Harry, covering the Case Closed sign with his hand.

'Oh, that's okay. I'm just taking in the scenery. I'm so stoked to be here!' said Tomas, cheerily.

The boy walked over to look out the window.

'They're bewitched windows,' Harry explained, 'We're really miles down underground. They show what the weather is like on the surface.'

Tomas's face lit up. 'Whoa, that is so cool.' He continued to stare out the window.

Returning to the stack of papers, Harry flicked through. The case of Max Grimshaw had not been a hard one for Harry. It had been a few years ago, and a copycat criminal started enchanting Muggle toilet seats to do strange things. At the height of his terror, talented wizard Max Grimshaw bewitched a toilet to breath fire. A muggle landed in hospital, confused, with severe burns. The ordinary Magic Control Team couldn't find the perpetrator, but Harry could.

Glancing over the top of the papers, Harry studied the boy, still looking out the window.

He had brown, rugged hair. It was styled, as the kids would say, like a 'bedhead'. His eyes were wide, like the windows really were fascinating, and were brown with flecks of a sort of gold. He looked like he was 15, but Harry thought he must be more like 17.

'So… what brings you here, Tomas?'

'Please,' he grinned, 'call me Tom, or something.'

'Okay, Tomas,' said Harry, 'why are you here?'

Running his hand through his hair, Tomas took the seat across the desk from Harry.

'My dad works here. He managed to get me a placement here, so I could see if I wanted to work here, like, in the future.'

Harry wondered who the boy's father was. Why didn't the kid go to see what his Dad did at work?

Tomas was leaning over the desk to get a look at the notes on the desk.

'Uh-uh! No good being nosey.' Harry whisked the notes off the desk and put them back in the draw.

'So… tell me about yourself.' Said Harry.

'Sounds like I'm at a psychiatrist. But, like, what do you want to know?'

'Um…' Harry had not thought about this part. 'Why do you want to work here?'

'It's a cool place. And I like Defence Against the Dark Arts class.'

'Ah. There's a cool story. Me and my friends saved Defence Against the Dark Arts class.'

'Whoa!' said Tomas, 'How? From who?'

'There was this really, really awful professor and she worked… uh, here, but she was really bad. And she scrapped it, basically.'

'So… how did you save it?'

'Oh yeah. Well, we went behind her back and I taught it to everybody.'

'Show me something!' Asked the boy.

'That would be illegal right now.'

Harry got up from the desk and paced around a bit. He didn't know what to say.

'Can you tell me about your job?' Tomas asked.

'Sure. Well, I… like, catch the bad guys. If someone is doing something illegal and the ordinary wizards can't catch them, then I do.' Explained Harry.

The boy nodded. 'What am I going to do today?'

'Um. I don't know.'

Tomas smiled at Harry. 'You didn't know I was coming today, did you?'

'No. I forgot.'

There was a pause for a bit. Harry walked over to his in-out tray and picked up a piece of parchment from the 'in' section.

It was a notice, explaining that the Wizarding Police had one week left to catch a criminal before Harry had to intervene.

'I can't do potions. My friend can… so I manage to get by.' Said Tomas.

Harry looked over to the boy. He imagined the boy morphing into an image of himself as a kid. He had it all then, really: talent, hope for the future, support from his friends. Now he didn't really have any of that. The only similarity was his short fuse and lack of family. But this kid could have it, thought Harry. I used to have it, too. Somewhere along the line, I lost it.

'Hey, look at this.' Said Harry. He took the parchment and gave it to Tomas.

The boy looked it over.

It contained the case file for the Case of The Shop-Lifter, who would cast magical spells on shops in the Muggle world. In one instance he actually made a corner shop levitate, hence the name Shop-Lifter, and a Muggle saw - causing the Wizarding Police to remove their memory.

Tomas's eyes grew wide as he read the case file. 'Wow… who would do this?' he wondered.

'Some nutter.' Replied Harry. 'I've dealt with a lot of 'em.'

There was a knock at the door and a man stepped in. Harry recognised him as a receptionist. The man was panting and leaned against the door frame.

'This is for you…from Patrice…here you go.' The man handed Harry a scroll of parchment.

Harry nodded and closed the door after the man. He read the parchment.

Come quickly - Diagon Alley, lunatic on a rampage. Come armed. Patrice

Harry turned to run out the door and remembered his visitor.

'Uh… God… do you have anyone to stay here with today?' He asked Tomas.

'Um, no. Why?'

'Come on… and stay with me at all times!'

The two ran out into the hall and came to one of the fireplaces. Harry gripped Tomas's arm and took some of the Floo Powder on the mantelpiece, tossing it into the fire.

'Don't let go. Hold on tight, okay?' said Harry. Tomas nodded. 'Diagon Alley!' And they jumped into the roaring green flames.

The floor jerked beneath Harry, the walls twisted and contorted and collapsed together.

-Chapter Six-

The Rampage

They stepped out onto a cobbled road.

Harry looked down at Tomas. His face was pale, and he was doubled over, clutching his stomach.

'Alright?' Harry asked the boy. Nod. 'Let's go then!'

When Tomas had recovered, they jogged down the path, and paused at the end.

'We're looking for… Professor Smith Lane. You know which way?' Harry panted.

Tomas pointed to the right, and they took the lane. Harry stopped.

'Well…' said Tomas, perking up. 'Remember where we parked the car – just follow the trail of destruction.'

The path in front of them was scorched, and crates were alight. Windows were smashed and the glass scattered in front of them. Then the screaming started.

Proceeding forward, cautiously, they saw a cat: led still, with a black circle burned into its fur. Ignoring it, the two reached the wall at the end.

Leaning against the back of a house and crouching down, was a young woman. She was whimpering and clutching her arm, her head lolling from side to side. She was bent over a small figure beside her, a little girl, led still on the ground. When Harry approached, the woman looked up, blinking through tears. She wrapped her arms around the girl and pulled her up jerkily, so Harry could see her face. The girl's eyes were closed, and she was quiet. Her face and neck were coated with blood. Then she began to moan.

As the woman started to scream, Harry took the girl and led her flat on the ground. Muttering something, he stood back. After a few seconds, the girl's arm stuck out and the woman took her tiny hand. Her eyes opened and searched frantically for their mother's.

The woman took the girl and they ran off back down the street.

'Well…' said Harry, 'let's, uh… go then, shall we?'

In the distance was a wizard clothed in a black robe and hood. Clearly a well-built man, he was pointing his wand at the Police and cackling. On the floor around the man, who was floating in the air, were bodies belonging to many fallen police men and women.

Harry stormed at the man and unleashed his Patronus; the silver stag danced in the air, leaving wisps of glittering silver trailing in its wake. The stag charged forwards, but before it touched the man's body he had disappeared in a flash of light.

The stag ground to a halt and Harry and Tomas caught up with it. With a flash it dissolved into the air.

A police man approached, who Harry could identify as PC Harold Hanks, because he was wearing a name tag on his shirt.

'You're the one Patrice called for, right?' He asked.

'Yeah, that's me. Auror Harry Potter.' Replied Harry.

'The Paramedics are on their way, Potter, we were too late. We couldn't bring him down.' Said Hanks, hanging his head in shame.

'Don't beat yourself up. He was a crazy lunatic. He couldn't have been stopped in time.' Harry put a hand on the policeman's shoulder.

'Four down.' Hanks counted. 'PCs Bridge, Plodd, Wakelin, and Moors. Sixteen casualties – five serious.' He gestured to five people leaning against a wall.

Harry recognised one – it was Patrice Bowen. She was an old mentor of Harry's, who he worked alongside with on many cases. Her leg was crumpled underneath her and she was muttering in pain. There were four others. Three had wounds, were covered with blood and shivering against each other. One had black marks on them and was murmuring to himself.

Harry heard a siren and an ambulance lumbered down the path, siren wailing and flashing. Paramedics got out and loaded the vehicles with patients.

Looking away, Harry took a step forwards and threw his head back, seeing the blue sky unfold in front of him. Raising a fist, he shouted: 'I'll get you for this!' His voice echoed through the street.

Hanks shook his head and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. 'Good luck with that.' He turned to leave but got as far as the ambulances. 'Do you need to go to the Hospital?' He asked.

Harry shook his head. He glared back at the sky.

Tomas walked over. Glancing at Harry, who was still staring intently at nothing, he took a few steps back.

'Stupid old geezer's having an episode.' He muttered.

'Excuse me!' Harry wheeled round to look at Tomas. 'I am not stupid, old, or a geezer. And I am not having an episode of any sort!'

Tomas scuffed his shoes in the gravel and looked at the floor sheepishly.

'Although, I always thought I'd be good on Wizard Police Watch. That'd be a good episode.' Harry thought. He laughed to himself.

'Okay crazy old man, can we go now?' asked Tomas.

'Mind your elders.' Replied Harry. They took off down the road. 'Or was that… respect your elders? Yeah, mind your language and respect your elders.'

'So.' chirped Tomas. 'You are an elder? Like, an old man?'

'No, I'm only forty… something.'

'Ooh, let me guess. Forty… seven?'

Harry flinched, and looked away.

'Bingo.' Muttered Tomas.

-Chapter Seven-

The Dismissal

There was a knock at the door.

'Come in!' shouted Harry.

Cornelius Fudge entered, with a grave expression on his face and a letter in his hand.

'Good morning, Harry.'

'Morning, Cornelius.'

Cornelius slipped the letter onto Harry's desk.

'Good bye, Harry. Clear out your office by tomorrow.'

'Wait!' said Harry. 'W-What?'

'Well…' started Cornelius. 'You are overweight and mope around the corridors in your spare time. You are scaring several employees with your facial expressions and shorter than usual temper. You have tripped over in the hall on multiple occasions, you barely fit behind your desk, and you can no longer fully carry out your responsibilities.'

Harry's mouth hung open. 'What do you mean I can't do my work anymore?'

'To put it simply, you are too fat to chase bad guys. Bye, Harry!' said Cornelius, cheerfully, as he waltzed out the door.

'What happened…' Harry's voice trailed off. He swivelled out of his chair and chased Cornelius out of the room. 'What happened to two weeks notice?'

Cornelius stopped. 'Leave, Harry.'

Harry, with a look that could burn holes through You-Know-Who himself, stormed into his office. He grabbed his coat and shrugged it on. Leaving his papers behind he slammed his old office's door and half ran down the long corridor.

'Yeah, that's right!' Harry shouted at the people in the hall. 'You can clean out my office! I'm not going to!'

Wizards and witches glanced at Harry and then away again. Some muttered 'nutter', others shook their heads as he waddled past, shouting expletives. A young witch paused in Harry's path, her eyebrows knitted together. Harry stormed dramatically past, his head up high. He missed his footing on the polished floor and his left foot missed a step. He almost did the splits before reaching his arm out and standing back up.

Red in the face, panting and puffing, shouting at passers-by, Harry slammed his car door and, to say goodbye to the Ministry, reversed into Cornelius Fudge's car.

-Chapter Eight-

The Hut

It was right there.

Ten minutes of circling the same street and it was right there in the first place.

Repositioning the side view mirror Harry could see his red tinged face. Just perfect.

Slamming the door as he got out, he shuffled his way into Pizza Hut.

Looking around, he could not see Terry. He had left him a text message while he was stuck in traffic.

You will not believe the day I am having.

Meet me Pizza Hut 1500.

Hazza

Taking a seat in a booth at the back of the restaurant, Harry waited for his friend to arrive. He went to the counter to order a starter for when Terry arrived.

'Can I have two large Barbeque Pizzas for table 27 please?'

Back at the booth Terry arrived, clutching a man bag and squishing into the seat opposite Harry. He took out two beers and passed one to Harry under the table.

'Wasuuuuuup?' Greeted Terry.

'Been fired, too fat to do my job.' Mumbled Harry.

Terry gave Harry a long, hard look and shook his head.

'Sorry, mate. That must be hard for you.'

Their pizzas arrived, and the two men devoured them. They ordered their main courses after – four large bacon salsa sizzler pizzas, two large portions of chips, two large chicken marinara subs and two large colas.

'Eating won't make it better, Harry. Talk, tell me what's wrong.' Said Terry.

'You know… I don't want to. I want to eat. Eating is great, I thought you'd understand.' Harry whispered.

'I do understand. The same thing happened to me, when I discovered eating. I can't stop you. I'm going to go… but I'm going to give you my credit card.' Terry smiled.

'What? What? Your credit card?'

'Yeah. Here.' Terry dug into his man bag and took out a card. He handed it to Harry. 'Three-hundred smackaroos. Use it wisely. Call me tomorrow.' He got up and slowly trundled out of the Pizza Hut.

Harry got up as fast as a kid on Christmas and headed straight for the counter.

-Chapter Nine-

The Hospitalisation

The empty slot was heavy in his wallet.

The taxi rumbled its way along the winding roads towards his little flat.

Drawing to a halt, Terry handed the driver a tip and got out. The cabbie gave him a nod.

He unlocked his door, which greeted him with a creak. Fumbling into the kitchen, he flicked on the light switch and put on some pop tarts for a snack.

Sitting at his table with his stack of pastries, he tucked in and thought about the day. I left him. He thought. It was for the best… but the best for who? He sighed and glanced out the window. The sun had set and the sky was the rich blue that came before the black out. If I stayed, I'd have been sucked back into that world. Terry threw the pop tart onto the kitchen floor. It crumbled to pieces as he yelled at it. Looking at the pieces, he picked the remains up and dropped them back onto the plate. But that doesn't mean I should have left him with the deadliest weapon I could.

'What do you think?'

'It's too soon to say. He's not out of the woods yet.'

Harry's eyes flickered open.

The walls and ceiling were the same, sterile white – the kind you imagined snow to be. He was lying on a flat surface… smooth but firm, Harry thought. Leaning over him was Ron and Hermione, people who had once been friends.

'Oh, hello.' Said Harry, curtly.

'Harry! You're okay!' Hermione laughed.

'Whoa, mate.' Ron said, 'You let yourself go.'

Harry grimaced and looked away. Hermione elbowed Ron in the stomach.

'Seriously, you were like… stick thin!' Ron remarked.

'Hm, I was, wasn't I?' said Harry.

'What Ron means is-' began Hermione.

'What?' Shouted Harry, 'What? What could he possibly have meant? Well, Hermione, I don't remember saying you could visit me! You lost that privilege the day you messed up my life!'

Hermione went quiet. Ron rolled his eyes.

'Get out!' Harry yelled. 'Get OUT!'

Nobody moved. 'We're sorry, Harry. We really are,' said Hermione. 'But after all we've been through, of course we care about you. You're going through a rough time and we want to help.'

Harry turned to the nurse beside the bed. 'Why am I here?' he asked. He sat up and took a needle out his hand.

The nurse leaned over and put it back in. 'Someone rung an ambulance. They found you led on the kerb outside Pizza Hut.' She replied. 'Keep this in, it's important.'

Hermione muttered to Ron and they left, the nurse behind them. Harry was alone.

He collapsed onto the pillows and sighed.

His eyes opened and gradually got used to the light.

'God, I'm hungry.' Harry said.

He sat up. No one was there.

Rubbing the front of his hand, he realised the needle was gone. Must be fine then. He thought.

Digging into his clothes pockets again he retrieved his mobile phone. One new text message, it told him.

Ron will be there at 5pm to bring you home. You'll be staying at ours for a bit.

Hermione

The clock beside him told him it was 12 noon.

Grunting, he swung his legs off the bed. Pulling his jeans on under the hospital gown, the nurse opened the curtains.

'No, you can't get up yet.' She said.

'Watch me.' said Harry.

He buttoned his shirt and grabbed his phone. He looked back and waved to the nurse as he walked into the curtain pole. Rubbing his head he stormed out.

'You've got to stay for observation!' she called after him.

Terry got into the cab.

The window had handprints on it. Outside it was dry. Windy, but dry.

'So, what's your name?' He asked the driver.

'Phil.' Replied the cabbie.

'Cool. I'm Terry.'

'It's nice to meet you Terry.' Said the driver, politely.

Keen to put last night's events behind him, he engaged in light conversation. 'Hey, imagine hanging the washing out on a day like today.' The driver tilted the mirror to see him.

'Hanging out some washing, ' he continued. 'knowing that when you bring it in, it will be nice and dry.'

Phil's eyes narrowed. 'Uh, yes. It'd be pretty… rewarding.'

'Yeah. You get me.'

They were silent. Phil's hand went to turn on the radio.

'Do you own a tumble dryer, Phil?'

'Yes.'

'See, this is what you don't experience when you have a tumble dryer. There's nothing like utilising the good old power of the wind.'

'Are you having me on?'

'I don't know what you mean.'

Phil turned the radio on to a country station. He relaxed in his seat.

'So, you like country?'

Phil sighed. 'Beats pop.'

'Oh, you're a country kind of guy.' Said Terry.

'I guess.'

'I'm not sure I'm happy with you driving then. What if you start singing some song and you miss the traffic lights change, and a car smashed into the bumper.'

'That won't happen.' assured the driver.

'But what if it did? And some muscly man came up to the window and heard the country music and started beating you up. Then I'd have to walk the way back.'

Phil ignored Terry and turned the music up a bit louder. They were silent for a few songs.

'Traffic's light today.' Remarked Terry.

Phil grasped at this normal conversation. 'Yeah, it is. It's a bank holiday.'

'Where do you reckon they got that from? "Bank holiday"?' asked Harry.

'Actually,' replied Phil. 'I'm pretty sure-'

'Ha, don't pretend like you know!' They turned into a street.

'Here we are.' Said Phil.

Terry handed the driver his money. 'It's actually a little way from here.'

'Have a nice walk!' said the driver, opening the door for Harry. He got out.

-Chapter Ten-

The Intervention

Sliding his legs off his bed, Harry got up and stretched.

Taking the stairs two at a time, stumbling once but with a smooth recovery, he entered Ron and Hermione's living room.

'Surprise!' Shouted Ron. 'Happy Birthday! Congratulations: You're our lucky 100th customer!'

Hermione nudged Ron. 'We're staging you an intervention.' she said, nervously.

Harry froze. 'You what?'

'Your eating disorder.' Said Ron. 'It's out of control, mate!'

Turning away, Harry counted tried to ten. He got to two: 'I do not need an intervention from two nosey gits like you!' Heading for the door, he crashed face first into it.

'What do inanimate objects have against me?!'

In the kitchen he opened the cupboard doors. The door behind him closed, and Hermione, minus Ron, sat down at the kitchen table.

'Sit with me, Harry.' She said.

Approaching like a wary dog, or walrus, and receding again, he eventually sat across the table from Hermione.

'Before you get mad, which is inevitable, just remember all the times we've been there for you.' She began.

'If you are trying to butter me up, it isn't working. I've got more butter in here,' he said, patting his stomach, 'than I need right now.'

'I'm not.' Hermione laughed. 'I'm just saying. We only want whats right for you.'

Harry snorted. 'If you insist on butter, please, make some pancakes or something.'

Hermione got up and opened the bread bin. She took out a pack of waffles, and popped two in the toaster.

'Harry, even you can see, you've put on a lot of weight.' She tried again. 'It's not healthy, and will hurt you if you continue eating all this crap. We want to help you… stop while you can. While you can reverse what happens.'

Harry nodded.

'Imagine if you carried on this way. The life you'd be throwing away! Okay, you aren't happy now, but how happy will you be when you can't even walk, or get out of bed?'

'I can't stop Hermione. It's an addiction.'

'I know. And me and Ron are here to help. Stay with us and get back onto your feet. And we'll sign you up with the gym. And I can cook you proper meals, not crappy takeaways. What do you say?'

'I say… am I paying rent?' He said, and they both laughed. 'No, seriously. I'm broke.'

'No! Of course not.' Hermione smiled. 'Let's go to the gym. Right now!'

Getting up and waddling to the door, 'Hey, my waffles!' he said.

At the gym, Harry, Ron and Hermione went to the front desk. The receptionist was on the phone, jotting down notes. When they arrived, she looked up at Harry and couldn't hide the shock from her face. 'Thank you, goodbye.' She said, putting the phone back on the cradle and putting her pen down. Looking back at the three, she smiled. 'How may I help you?' she asked.

'We're here to join Harry up.' Said Hermione.

'Of course.' The receptionist beamed. She reached under her desk and took out a brightly coloured form. 'Take this over there and fill it in please. You can bring it back when you've completed it.' she handed it to Harry and took the phone again.

- - - - - - - - Diagon Gym Registration Form- - - - - - - -

Name?

DOB?

Gringotts Bank Number?

Address?

'If only I still had my "small fortune"!' Smirked Harry. When his parents had died, he had been left a large amount of wizarding money, in a vault at Gringotts bank.

'You still have some, right?' asked Ron.

'Yeah, it's okay.' Said Harry. 'I have a bit.'

After filling it in and handing it to the receptionist, 'You'll receive a membership card in the owl post shortly.' They left for home.

'That was a three person mission?' scoffed Ron.

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. 'Harry needed the support.'

Harry walked down the road with a grin on his face. 'I feel really good about this, you know.' He said, 'This is the start of something.'

And right he was.

TO BE CONTINUED

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Follow for the next chapters!xx


	2. Harry Potter &the WeightWatchers secrets

-Chapter One-

The First Fortnight

'Just nipping to the gym,' said Harry.

'You can try and try but nip you won't,' laughed Hermione, 'not 'till you lose some more of that weight.'

Taking his coat off the coat hook, Harry opened the front door. 'Eighteen stone this morning!' he called.

He walked a short way down the road to where he had parked his car, in an alley. Getting in and turning on the engine, he drove into the town.

He stopped outside a small, green shop. He took his keys out the ignition and walked in.

'Hello sir!' the man at the counter greeted. 'It's nice to see you again!'

'Hi Li. The usual please.' Replied Harry.

'You want…' Li started. 'You want, what you had last time?'

Harry nodded.

'We simply do not have that supply of noodles!' the man gasped.

'Whatever you have, Li. I'm really hungry. I'm being starved!' Harry took out his wallet and emptied it on the counter. A heap of gold and silver coins rolled out, Knuts and Gallons, wizarding currency. The man's eyes lit up and he snatched at them.

Harry gathered them up. 'The less hungry my stomach is… the more money you get.' He grinned.

'Sheila!' Li called. 'Put on the wok! … The good wok!'

Leaving his car in the alley and getting out, Harry headed back to Ron and Hermione's, stomach heavier but wallet significantly lighter.

He opened the front door to the aroma of fried food.

'I know we're being hard on you.' Said Hermione. 'And to show how well you are doing, today we're eating takeout!'

'Thanks Hermione, but I'll pass today.' Said Harry.

Hermione stopped unwrapping the pack of chips. 'What?'

'Just joking!' said Harry. Hermione laughed and continued unwrapping the food. 'God, how cliché do you think I am?'

They sat down in front of the TV and ate the fish and chips, while watching 'Wizarding Bargain Hunt'.

'So,' said Ron, tucking into a big plate of chips. 'How is the gym going, mate?'

'It's better than I thought it would be.' Replied Harry.

Ron nodded and glanced at the TV. 'How much have you lost now?' he asked.

'Well, that would be telling!' said Harry, taking another handful of chips. 'How much do you think I've lost?'

'Um… well, that would be telling.'

The front door creaked shut.

'Did you do it?' asked Hermione.

Ron nodded. 'Yeah.'

Hermione typed a password into the computer and loaded up a webpage on the computer.

'So… that's him, what, now?' said Ron.

'Shh!' snapped Hermione, turning her focus to the computer once more.

After a few clicks, map appeared on the screen, followed by a blinking red dot. The dot moved up the street and turned a corner.

'That's not the way to the gym!' said Hermione. 'Harry was tricking us!'

'Stupid git.' Ron cursed.

The dot entered a building. Hermione scrolled the mouse over it and read out the address as it flashed onto the screen.

'That's that Greek takeaway, Swish Kebab!' said Ron. 'I, um, may have taken Harry there the other week.' He added, with a sheepish grin.

Hermione tutted. 'Never mind. He's been taking our niceness and throwing it back in our faces!'

Ron shook his head slowly and sarcastically. 'What. A. Despicable. Person.'

'You don't need to be such a jerk about it.'

'Well, we all new Harry was a lying git, right?'

'Some people never change.'

The front room was silent when Harry walked in.

'Had a good time at the gym?' asked Hermione.

'Oh, yeah.' Harry replied. 'Yeah. Tried out the new, um… weights.'

'That's good! Good to know you're on track to be back to normal soon!'

Harry smiled and took his place on the sofa. Hermione stood up.

'Empty your pockets!' she shrieked.

'Wh-what? Why?'

'Just do it!'

Harry shook his pockets and a Kit Kat Chunky fell onto the floor.

'Out of my house!' shouted Hermione.

Harry left the room hurriedly, and Ron followed with a newspaper, the 'Wizarding World'.

Multiple Small Eating Establishments Bankrupt

Many small, family run takeaways and cafés have gone out of business recently. An estimated 150 establishments in the past month have closed for good, leaving their owners to look for alternative work.

Signor Juan Comida of a local Taco World was available to comment: 'It came… It ate us out of our business… and it left, as loudly as it came!'

When asked what 'it' was, he offered:

'It was… horrible! Never make me relive that memory again!'

Juan Comida now resides in a muggle mental institution, where he can be seen rocking in the corner and repeating the mantra 'It never leaves!'

'So…' said Ron. 'Was "it" you?'

'Nah. Can't be.' Shrugged Harry. He picked up his coat and opened the front door.

'Hasta la-'

'You need your stuff. You can't come back.'

'Well, yeah.' Mumbled Harry. 'Don't rush me.'

Ron took hold of the door handle and coaxed Harry outside. 'Tell you what mate, I'll drop it off later.'

Nodding, Harry walked down the drive. 'Wait!' he called, running back and holding the door open. 'I don't have anywhere to go!'

'Call me.' said Ron, closing the door.

Looking up at the grey clouds, the drizzle landed on Harry's face. Hanging his head down, he slumped into his car and drove off.

-Chapter Two-

The Second ReHoming

Grey, infinite and endless grey.

It was the same every morning.

Every morning Harry woke up at 'The Happy Wizard Homeless House', he saw the grey ceiling. The grey walls.

Every morning he looked in the mirror. His face was grey and lifeless.

Every morning he trudged along the grey corridors, into the grey canteen, and ate some grey cereal.

'I need to get out of here.' He said one morning.

The others in the canteen looked at him.

'I need to get out of here!' He repeated. He stood up and wobbled precariously, using the table for support.

The other homeless people stood with him.

'Yeah, we need to get out of here too!' they agreed.

'Then let's do it!' said Harry. 'Let's get out of here!' Cheers erupted in the food hall.

One man raised his hand. 'It's… bingo today. Can we leave after that?'

'What is this? A residential home?' replied Harry.

'Well I,' started the man. 'I just, kinda like bingo.'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, okay, it can wait till after bingo.' He sat back down and looked into his bowl of cereal.

'Wait no! It can't wait. I'm leaving, who's with me?' Harry shouted, weaving his way through the tables.

No one stood up. 'It can wait. It's not that bad here.'

Shaking his head, Harry opened the door. 'Well, I'm leaving for my new life!' he said.

'Bye Harry.' Said the homeless people in the food hall.

Outside the home it was drizzling. Always is, thought Harry.

Stumbling along the pavement and kicking stones, he whistled a western tune. He put his hands in his pockets and closed his eyes: now he was a cowboy, walking across the plain, to have a fight with another cowboy. Harry would win.

Smack!

'Excuse me, where do you think you're going?' a high pitched voice asked.

Harry opened his eyes in time to see a pretty blonde woman walk around him, clearly annoyed at being walked into.

'Sorry.' Mumbled Harry.

Keeping his eyes open, he continued his walk to Ron and Hermione's house.

'Get the door, Ron, please.' Asked Hermione.

Ron put down his newspaper. 'But I did it last time!' he grunted, shuffling to the door. A figure blocked Ron's view out the glass.

'Solar eclipse!' he shouted as he opened the door. 'What do you want?'

Harry pushed his way into the house. 'I need help.'

'Yeah, I know.' Said Ron, with a sigh. He motioned towards the front room. 'Go on… But you can face the wrath of Hermione.'

'RON!' Hermione shouted. 'Why did you just let Harry in here? Do you not remem-'

Ron put his hand up. 'I know. Look, let's just help him get back on his feet and maybe we won't have to put up with this anymore.'

Harry tutted and tapped his feet on the floor. 'I'm right here!' he grinned. 'Not very good hosts are you?'

Hermione sighed, putting her book down on the coffee table. 'Harry…' she began. 'We really need to talk.'

Sitting down on the sofa, and taking the whole space up, he nodded.

'Good!' said Hermione. 'Good start.'

'I need a house.' Harry said.

'We need to talk about this… accomplice of yours. We know you have one, someone who encourages you to eat.'

Harry flew off the handle. 'DO NOT GET TERRY ARKWRIGHT, 21 ALLEY LANE, INTO THIS!' he shouted.

Hermione nodded. 'Right, Harry, if you stay here, let me see what I can sort out.'

There was a brisk knock at the door.

Visitors? He stumbled around in the dark to get it.

He opened the door. A woman was standing in the doorway.

'Teddy Arkwright?' she asked.

'Terry.'

'Can we talk?'

-Chapter Three-

Third time lucky

'Do you like… this one?' asked Ron, motioning to the laptop screen.

'No…'

'How about…' Ron scrolled down. 'This one?'

'Look, I don't care as long as it has a roof and a fridge. And maybe a minibar.' Shrugged Harry.

Ron sighed. He closed the laptop lid and turned to Harry. 'How about we go for a walk, and the first flat for sale we look at?' he suggested.

'A walk?' moaned Harry.

Ron picked up a jacket from the sofa and shrugged it on. 'C'mon Harry.' He said, without energy.

This is going to be a long day. Thought Ron.

It was gently snowing outside, and by the time they reached a flat for sale, Harry was shivering. This place looks good. Yeah, let's just get this one and get it over with.

Ron called the estate agent. When the gentle snow turned into a storm, he arrived.

Dressed in a sharp suit, the estate agent had his blonde hair in a quiff. He had a very square chin, Harry thought.

'Hello-hello-hello!' he called, in a deep, TV-style voice.

He reached the two and shook their hands. 'I'm Mick.' He said, with a grin that oozed spare ego.

'Without further delay, let me show you this property!' said Mick. 'Where is it?' he asked, his head turning from side to side.

'Excuse me?' asked Harry. 'You don't know where the property is? Are you the right agent?'

'Right Agen-no! No no no! I've never seen it before in my life!' He laughed at Harry's stupidity. 'I am one of the wizarding world's top estate agents, here to show you round this property, paid for by this gentleman here!' he gestured to Ron.

Harry's jaw flew open.

'Let's go in!' said Mick, cheerfully.

'Here is a cupboard!' Mick opened it grandly. 'Oh no, it's another room! That makes two! And that makes this flat a steal!' He roared with gusto.

Harry and Ron walked in. The wallpaper was peeling off and the carpet was coming off in the corners.

'Hey, look! The windows open!' announced Mick.

He ushered them out of the room, into the hall.

'Now, I know it smells a bit damp, but that's not the house, that's the scent the owner put on this morning!' he lowered his voice. 'He was born with a rare condition – he has no nose.' Said Mick, sombrely.

He guided them towards a small door.

'This is the stairwell!' he said, swinging the door open.

'That's an airing cupboard…' Ron mumbled. 'Without the immersion heater.'

'Well!' said Mick, 'that's a bonus! No water or heating bills!'

'No water or heating full stop.' Sighed Harry.

'Okay gentlemen!' Mick grinned. 'That concludes the tour of this magnificent property. Can we make a deal – here, now?' he asked.

Harry glanced out the small window. The blizzard was raging. Well, the windows open, Harry. He thought to himself.

'It's a deal.' Harry put out his hand and Mick shook it with passion.

'Another deal well done!' he guffawed. 'You are one smart shopper, Mr Potter!'

'It's not that bad. You're exaggerating, Ron.' Snapped Harry.

'I believe Ron.' Said Hermione, curtly. 'You chose a flat on Dimore Alley. The worst alley around here.'

'Well, you don't have to live there, so it's fine.' Replied Harry.

Hermione shook her head and lowered her voice to a whisper. She leant towards Ron. 'No water… or heating? I thought you were meant to be keeping an eye on him!'

Ron's eyes widened. 'Keep me out of this!'

A week later, Harry opened his front door. He put his shopping bags on the floor – groceries – and walked into the front room.

Sitting on the sofa, he put his gym membership card to one side, and spread his weight watchers leaflets across the table.

I killed Voldemort. He thought. I can lose weight.

-Chapter Four-

The Forth let down

Dear Harry,

I feel awful about encouraging this eating habit of yours – at the time I thought I was doing the right thing. I've been through it all before so I don't know why I didn't stop you.

I hope you can recover. If you do then maybe we can talk, if you can forgive me.

Talk sometime Bye,

Terry Arkwright

A tear trickled down Harry's cheek, rolling off his face.

Where did my life go so wrong?

For the first time, in a long time, Harry cried.

The phone by his bed rang.

Reaching round with great difficulty, Harry picked it up and put it to his ear.

'Harry, it's Hermione.'

'I know. You're the only person who'd ever call me.'

'I'm coming round.'

Harry was silent.

'See you in five.' Hermione hung up.

It seemed like only seconds had passed before he heard Hermione opening his front door. Then again, for the last month he had stared at black for the whole day.

The light flickered on, and Harry shielded his eyes. Rainbow spots danced around his vision. The first colour he'd seen for weeks.

When he felt comfortable opening his eyes, he looked up at Hermione, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. She stared down with pity in her eyes, and Harry had to look away.

'Harry, you can't live like this.'

'Well, I'm doing a pretty good job at it so far.' He argued. 'Look.' He sucked in a huge breath, and exhaled. 'I'm breathing. I'm alive.'

Hermione nodded. 'Yeah. Harry… when was the last time you had a wash?'

'I don't have any water here, remember.'

'I don't think you're coping very well,' said Hermione, gingerly. 'We have to get you washed up and presentable, because your kids are coming round.'

Harry tried to sit up. He fell back into the pillows. 'No!' He gasped. 'No! I don't want them to see me like this!'

'Then what does that say about you?' asked Hermione.

'You're right! I need to sort myself out… help me.'

'I know where you should go. Back to the muggle world… and live there for a while… like a holiday.'

Harry rolled out of bed. He waded towards the wardrobe and pulled out a jacket. 'Can I come round yours and have a shower?'

Hermione winced. 'I don't think you'll fit…'

Head hanging dejectedly, Harry waddled back to his bed.

'But we can try!' said Hermione, putting on a cheerful voice.

She led Harry out of the room and into her car. Thank God for cars… or else how would I have got Harry home?

The key turned in the lock and the front door squeaked open.

'You were quick. How's Harry?'

The stairs creaked slowly.

'Oh, ignore me then.'

Hermione walked in and took off her coat. 'I'm not ignoring you. Harry is…' she glanced through the open door. 'He could be doing better.'

Ron put down the TV remote and got up. He looked through the door.

'O-oh my God…' he blurted.

-Chapter FIve-

The fifth sign

Remember what Hermione said: Don't let yourself go, and you'll be feeling better in no time.

It felt odd for Harry to be back in the Muggle world – the world he'd called his home as a child, and the world he'd wanted to escape from the whole time.

But now it felt like a safe haven. It was simple here. Peace and quiet.

Parking his car in his new driveway, he was glad he'd spent the last of his savings on this house – he was feeling good about it. It had water and heating – so it couldn't be worse than before – and it was clean and bright.

For the first time since all of this happened, he felt optimistic.

He knew there were plenty of people like him in this world. They managed. They coped. And now Harry would join them.

He'd written a list of things he'd need to do from now on, and he would stick to his list like his life depended on it.

Get dressed

Get washed

Eat breakfast

Do something

It was a bit vague, but he liked that. It gave him freedom to live how he wanted.

He clutched the paper in his hand as he took his suitcase to the front door.

Putting the key into the front door he turned it. Then ever so slowly… he opened the door.

Harry unpacked his suitcase, and sat on the bed. A new chapter of my life has begun. He may not have any money now, but Muggles had a system where people who didn't have a job could get money until they started work. The benefits system – although he'd heard it called 'the dole queue' before.

Going back downstairs, he sat on the sofa, in his new tracksuit (which Harry was wary of at first, but had to admit they were very comfortable) and turned on the TV.

There was a show on daytime telly he'd wanted to watch. 'The Jeremy Kyle show' was quite a hit here.

Jeremy Kyle was shouting at some woman, who broke into tears. Harry had to admit, it was more entertaining than it should be.

Leaning over, he took some lottery tickets out his pocket.

He was being realistic – he didn't really have any money now, and he couldn't get a job. But… he was feeling lucky.

The Muggle world – the land of freedom.

82 episodes of Jeremy Kyle later, Harry was wondering why it wasn't working.

Why wasn't he losing any weight?

Why hadn't he won the lottery?

Why wasn't he feeling better?

He'd tried and tried for the last two weeks to keep up appearances, to get dressed, to exercise…

He'd even grown a very fetching beard. It made him look smarter.

What was the winning formula?

And then it hit him.

-Chapter six-

The Last straw

Harry opened the book to the index.

I need to find something about conjuring up stuff. Why didn't I listen more in Potions?!

Instead he turned to Wingardium Leviosa. Staring simple.

He brandished his wand like a broadsword and pointed it at the TV remote. 'Wingardium…. Leviosa!' he shouted.

The remote didn't budge.

'Wingardium Leviosa?'

His wand threw up some feeble sparks.

I could call Hermione… but what I'm doing isn't exactly legal.

A look of surprise lit up Harry's face and he stumbled off towards the front door with his wand. Putting it safely back in his pocket, he went outside and got in his car.

Time to pay a visit to an old friend… platform 9 and three quarters.

'Please… please don't say that's Harry again…' said Ron.

'Don't be rude, Ron' replied Hermione as she went to get the front door. 'He's in his time of need.'

'He's an ungrateful git.' Mumbled Ron, turning back to his newspaper.

Hermione opened the front door. 'Oh, Harry! What a surprise!' she gasped.

'I need your help.' Said Harry, letting himself in the house. 'You're the smart one, and I can't do magic anymore!'

Hermione stopped and turned around. 'I hope you weren't doing magic in the Muggle w-'

'I wasn't, I wasn't' Harry interjected.

'…because if you were... you can get out my house!' said Hermione.

Harry walked into the front room and nodded to Ron. He took out his wand.

'Wingardium Leviosa!' he shouted. Nothing happened.

'Hm…' Hermione breathed. 'When was the last time you did magic and succeeded?'

Harry thought for a second. 'A month or so ago, when I was still an Auror, and I unleashed a Patronus.'

Hermione nodded. 'So something must have happened between then and now.'

'I haven't done anything. All I've done is watch TV.' Said Harry.

'What have you been watching?'

'Jeremy Kyle.'

'Oh no.' gasped Hermione. 'Oh no.'

'What? What's wrong with me? TELL ME!' Harry cried.

Hermione paused to think of the best way to break it to him. 'Well, you've spent so long watching Jeremy Kyle…' she started, hesitating. 'That it has sucked all the hope and soul from you, leaving you unable to perform magic.'

Harry dropped to his knees and threw his head back.

'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' He shouted. 'DAMN YOU JEREMY KYLE!' Then he blacked out.

Poor Harry. He's trying so hard… there must be something I can do to help him.

He just needs… a little bit of luck.

'Harry, this is… highly illegal.'

'Hey, thanks Hermione!'

'You aren't taking this seriously Harry!' Hermione shook her head and took the bottle away from Harry. 'Now listen… if anyone finds out I did this, I'll be in big trouble.'

Harry nodded his head. 'Sure, I won't tell.'

Hermione handed the little bottle of gold liquid back to Harry. 'If you do…'

Harry pocketed the bottle and grinned at her. 'You have my word. Besides, it's not the first time you've done something illegal with me.'

'If you tell a soul… I'll make You-Know-Who look like a cuddly puppy.'

Harry turned on the TV.

'I'm feeling lucky!' He drank the contents of the bottle in one gulp. It was a lucky potion, and it was illegal to use magic in the muggle world.

Wearing a giant grin, he got comfy on the sofa and took out his lottery tickets.

The lottery balls were spinning around in the machine, like in a washing machine.

'The jackpot today stands at five million pounds.'

Harry looked at his numbers. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. It was so simple it might just work.

'It's the number one!' the announcer… announced.

Harry stopped breathing.

'And… it's two! Followed by… three!'

He shuffled to the edge of his seat.

'Next is four! It appeared last week, too. Next is… wow, it's five! Now we need a six to finish it off!' the voice joked.

'And it's... six! It's six! This is the first time in the history of the lottery we've had these numbers! Six! It's SIX!' the voice couldn't contain it's excitement.

'SIX! SIX! SIX!' Harry joined in, jumping off the sofa.

Pulling some sick moves (really, they were sickening to watch) Harry danced his way to the front door.

'Time to reclaim my fortune!' He sang. 'It's six!'

He skipped down the road to the local shop, stopping frequently to catch his breath.

He burst through the front door, and tripped over the doormat, his winning ticket flying out of his hand. Scrambling to get it, he heaved himself up and ran to the counter. The cashier eyed him suspiciously as he approached.

'It's SIX!' Harry roared at the man. 'SIX!'

The cashier asked Harry to please calm down and tell him what he needed.

'Six!' Harry shouted, waving the ticket in the man's face.

The man paused to look at the ticket. 'A winning ticket!' He grabbed Harry's arms and jumped up and down with him. 'Six! Six!'

Harry wiped some sweat from his forehead. 'If someone was writing down my every move, how many times would they have wrote six in the last half a page?'

'Probably enough to make them go mad.' Replied the cashier, calmly taking Harry's ticket. 'And here is your five million pounds.' He took fistfuls of cash from under the counter.

'Wow.' Said Harry. 'You just give me the money? Is that how it works?'

The cashier paused, before lobbing more money across the counter. 'It is now.'

Harry eyed the growing green mound with huge eyes.

'Wait, do you have a spare wheelbarrow?' he asked.

The man nodded, and bend down. He lugged it around the counter.

'Thanks.' Said Harry, scooping up his winnings and placing them in the wheelbarrow. 'I thought it was appropriate.'

'Yep, yep.' The cashier nodded in agreement.

'Well, thanks.' Said Harry, wheeling his cargo out the door.

On his way home, Harry thought about what he could spend the money on.

I could buy a new house… but I like my house. I could buy a Ferrari… but I couldn't fit in it.

Stumped, Harry stopped and leaned against his wheelbarrow. He tapped his finger against his chin in a cartoon like way.

I've got it! I can buy more lottery tickets, and get even richer!

'Mr Fudge, we've got the report in.'

'Good, good. Bring it to me.'

She put the envelope she was holding on the desk in front of Fudge. He read to contents and nodded from time to time.

'I see… this all points to one conclusion.'

'Which is, sir?'

'That whoever wrote this comes from a foreign country. I need this re-written… in English please.'

She sighed, and took the paper out of his hands. She read it through to him, replacing words of more than two syllables with shorter alternatives.

'Egad!' Fudge exclaimed. 'The man's a criminal.'

'What should we do, sir?'

'Release the hounds! Metaphorically speaking, of course.'

I don't get paid enough for this. She left the room, thinking about what they should do with the criminal.

Let's send Mr Potter a little letter.


End file.
